14
A Midsummer Trip to the Tropics.
ish glow.    Everywhere else the effect is that of looking
through very light-blue glasses. . . .
We steam under the colossal span of the mighty bridge ;
then for a little while Liberty towers above our passing,—
seeming first to turn towards us, then to turn away from
us, the solemn beauty of her passionless face of bronze.
Tints brighten ;—the heaven is growing a little bluer. A
breeze springs up. . . .
Then the water takes on another hue : pale-green
lights play through it. It has begun to sound. Little
waves lift up their heads as though to look at us,—pat-
ting the flanks of the vessel, and whispering to one an-
other.
Far off the surface begins to show quick white flashes
here and there, and the steamer begins to swing. . . .
We are nearing Atlantic waters. The sun is high up
now, almost overhead : there are a few thin clouds in
the tender-colored sky,—flossy, long-drawn-out, white
things. The horizon has lost its greenish glow : it is a
spectral blue. Masts, spars, rigging,— the white boats
and the orange chimney,—the bright deck-lines, and the
snowy rail,—cut against the colored light in almost daz-
zling relief. Though the sun shines hot the wind is cold :
its strong irregular blowing fans one into drowsiness.
Also the somnolent chant of the engines—do-do, hey ! do-
do, hey !—lulls to sleep.
. . . Towards evening the glaucous sea-tint vanishes,—
the water becomes blue. It is full of great flashes, as of
seams opening and reclosing over a white surface. It
spits spray in a ceaseless drizzle. Sometimes it reaches
up and slaps the side of the steamer with a sound as of
a great naked hand. The wind waxes boisterous. Swing-
ing ends of cordage crack like whips. There is an im-
mense humming that drowns speech,—a humming made
up of many sounds : whining of pulleys, whistling of
riggings, flapping and fluttering of canvas, roar of net-